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‘Mo,’ Maggie whispered, ‘the only thing I would invest in the Boras family is the time it’s going to take me to find Drazen and see him put away.’

She returned to the press releases and opened them one by one. Most of them were bland, announcements of quarterly, half-yearly and annual profit figures. The others dealt with business development across Europe and around the world, and invariably were accompanied by photographs.

Two were expanded versions of stories she had read in the annual report, four others dealt with supply deals struck with major companies, one referred to an international congress in Las Vegas, ‘attended by David Barnes and Ifan Richards’, with a photograph of the pair in front of the black edifice of the Wynn resort, the newest and biggest on the Strip, and another spoke of a ‘successful trip’ to South Africa by Richards, shown in Cape Town, casually dressed, with Table Mountain in the background. Since David/Dražen’s disappearance, there had been only two: the board announcement and a release built around a sales drive on the US eastern seaboard, as part of what was referred to as ‘Fishheads’ American invasion’.

‘And what does all that tell you, Maggie?’ she asked herself aloud. ‘Damn all, so far,’ she replied, ‘but there’s something there, I know it.’

Forty-eight

‘Andy, how did you know to go for Dowley?’ asked David Mackenzie, as they walked out of the Crown Office into Chambers Street.

‘It was something I learned from Bob Skinner,’ Martin told him. ‘The two you look at first are the one who shouts loudest and the one who says the least.’

‘So who’s the other one?’

‘Joanna Lock, I reckon. What did you think of her?’

The chief inspector smiled. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw a person watch her back so carefully. She’s got her career all mapped out, and nothing’s going to sidetrack her.’

‘I agree. I don’t see her jeopardising it by talking out of turn.’

‘Is that us done here?’

‘There’s still Gregor Broughton.’

‘Of course. His secretary said she’d call to tell me when he can see us. Are we going to take that? Shouldn’t we be telling him?’

‘Hell, no. Gregor’s an old pal; he won’t mess us about. He’s also, David, one of the most discreet men I’ve ever met. Everybody expected that he’d be the new Crown Agent when the job fell vacant, but he didn’t apply; his wife’s a judge and he said that he wouldn’t have felt comfortable.’

‘So tomorrow we start interviewing our own guys?’

‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘And that’s where it could get a wee bit sticky. Mario McGuire had a word with me this morning, off the record. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed it, but I did, on the basis that he wouldn’t be saying anything he wasn’t prepared to put on tape. He told me that on the day of the second murder he and Neil discussed the details with Lou and Paula across the dinner-table. What Mario wanted to know was whether, when this was disclosed formally, we’d want to interview the girls too.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That I’d think about it. I have done, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll accept written declarations from each of them that they haven’t spoken to anyone else about what they were told. The final report will mention it, but won’t comment critically unless. . and God forbid. . either of the pair confesses that they did blab about it to a mate. If police officers can’t let off steam to a spouse or partner when they really need to, the job’ll become intolerable, or their marriage will suffer. I’ve done it; truth is, I do it all the bloody time, and I know for a fact that Bob Skinner has.’

‘Yes, but your wife was a cop, wasn’t she? And his ex was a pathologist.’

‘So what? Most of the time you’re not looking for expert analysis. You want a shoulder to cry on, somebody there who understands why the anger is coming off you in waves, or why your hands won’t stop shaking while you’re having your dinner. Police wives are unpaid counsellors. Are you telling me that you don’t confide in yours?’

Mackenzie frowned, as they slid into Martin’s car. ‘I won’t tell you that I haven’t,’ he said, ‘but the one time when I really should have talked to Cheryl, I wound up having serious discussions with Mr Miller Draft and Mr Vodka and Tonic instead, and nearly fucked my career. When I took on this new job, I did a hand-over with big McGurk, who did part of it before me. His marriage is tits up: I got the impression that often he wanted to talk to his wife, but that she didn’t want to listen.’

‘Or wasn’t able to,’ Martin suggested. ‘It can be rough, and some partners can’t handle it. I’m not just talking about the aftermath of armed situations, or child murders and so on. The people on the traffic cars see some fucking awful stuff, on a regular basis; they take all that home with them too. When Karen and I were married, and I was still down here, she set up a support group for officers’ wives who were having trouble dealing with their husband’s job. By God, it took off. . Mary McGurk was a member. . and before she knew it she had more clients than she could handle on her own, including quite a few husbands. She does the same thing up in Tayside.’

‘What happened to her group in Edinburgh when she left?’

‘It’s still there. She recruited helpers, and handed it on to them. Lady Proud’s the leader now, Sheila Mackie’s involved, and so is Jen Regan, George’s wife.’

‘Maybe Cheryl should volunteer.’

‘Maybe she should.’

Mackenzie was thoughtful as the car headed into the traffic. ‘Andy,’ he asked, after they had made the turn on to the North Bridge, ‘where’s this going to lead?’

‘It may go nowhere if the fiscal decides that he has evidence enough to convict the current suspect on the Dean case, because the copycat theory will be stopped in its tracks. On the other hand if the inquiry stays open it may lead to new avenues for the investigators. Our brief from Proud Jimmy is to uncover possible leaks of information. We’ve just hit the bull’s eye with our first dart, and I suppose that raises a new question. If it comes to it, who investigates all the Rotarians who heard Dowley shoot his mouth off? Is it us, or is it Becky Stallings and her people?’

‘Logic says it’s them.’

Martin smiled. ‘In this situation, I’m not sure that logic applies.’

Forty-nine

Bob Skinner’s Spanish was better than he was prepared to admit, but not up to a professional situation, so he was more than pleased that Intendant Josefina Cortes, the Mossos d’Esquadra’s chief regional criminal investigator, had spent, as she was quick to tell him, two years on an exchange programme with the Los Angeles Police Department, and did not require him to put it to the test.

She was in uniform when she arrived at the crime scene, the insignia on her shoulders leaving no-one in any doubt as to who was the ranking officer. Her manner underlined the fact. She was in her mid-thirties, sharp and authoritative, and in no way subservient to Skinner, although she had been briefed on his background before her arrival.

‘You have an eye for detail,’ she asked, ‘or just a good memory? You look at this woman twice, hours apart, and know something is wrong. Did you not think that they might have been two different people?’

‘You reckon?’ he replied. ‘Two identically undressed women sunbathing on the same hidden spot on the same day? That would mean that someone killed the victim in broad daylight, in the middle of the day, in full view of anyone who happened to be watching from L’Escala, then bundled up her clothes and possessions and took them away.’

Cortes smiled. ‘You have a point, Comisario.’

‘Yes, but now you have me kicking myself that I didn’t catch on first time to what had happened.’